


The Bells Tell No Lies

by SebasuchansKitten



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebasuchansKitten/pseuds/SebasuchansKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold winter night, an infant is thrown down a well and his parents are murdered, amplifying the imminent gypsy genocide in Paris. No crime takes place without a witness, however, and the child miraculously survives after being saved by the bell ringer of Notre Dame. Raised in the bell tower, the child soon grows up with a passion for caring for others, but after learning of his heritage and the despicable fate of Paris, he sets out to turn his passion into determination, and he'll stop at nothing to save his people. (Kuroshitsuji altered version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ritsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritsy/gifts).



> Hello, kitlets! I know I already posted a new story last month, but I just couldn't keep this one in the dark any longer. As you can see from the summary, this is a Kuroshitsuji altered version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. This will be based on the DISNEY MOVIE, not the original book, mainly because hardly anyone has read it (which you should if you haven't) and it's just easier to relate this story to.  
> Lastly, this is dedicated to my love, Ritsy. Darling, you are and always will be my shining star. I would be nothing without you, because I am everything with you. Thank you for standing by me and being the lovely ball of fluff that you are.  
> Yes, I talk a lot. What's new? Enjoy! ^-^

The scorching summer sun had begun to beat down on the dusty earth, making the dirt feel molten and drier than usual. The sound of cheerful chatter and joyous music floated over the land, gracing everyone's ears. It was early in the morning, but husbands had already made their way out of their house to gather food, and wives had scuttled out from their abodes to tend to their gardens. Farmers with carts and creaky wheelbarrows traveled throughout the town, speaking with the merchants and buying the various collections of groceries and trinkets that they had to offer.

 At every turn, one could spot musicians wildly playing an arrange of instruments, the most popular being the fiddle. Beneath them lie a small hat or cup, intended to persuade people to tip them for their glorious -- or, not so glorious -- contribution. Other beggars also lined the streets, and once in a while they would come across a caring individual who didn't think twice about giving them money.

 Other patrons included children, who typically trotted along the side of their fathers. This was with an exception to two young siblings who bounded through the village square, alone and without the company of a parent. Their clothes were clearly woven at the hand of their mother, and a few patches had been sewed onto the girl's dress and the boy's trousers, obviously covering up some gaping tears.

 "Where should we go now, Sis?" The boy asked, clutching one coin in his left palm.

 "I dunno," his sister shrugged, showing off a single coin in her hand, as well. "We only have two dollars left between the both of us. Mum told us not to waste our money on performers."

 "It wasn't a waste!" The boy disagreed. "Those musicians played real nice!"

 A doubtful look crossed his sister's face, though she kept her mouth shut. Looking up to the pale blue sky dotted with clouds, she placed her hand over her forehead, trying to protect her eyes from the blinding rays of fresh sunlight.

 "Hey! What's that?" She heard her brother exclaim, but by the time she lowered her head to regard what he was talking about, he had already sprinted over to a booth.

 "Francis!" She called in protest, and she hurried over to his side. "You know we're not supposed to leave each other's sides."

 But her scolding fell upon deaf ears, for her brother seemed to be lost in thought, a huge grin spread across his lips. The booth they now stood in front of was about three feet tall; they could barely see over it. The wooden boards that made up the booth seemed to be nailed together sloppily, and two large poles that were fastened on either side of the booth's surface appeared wobbly. The poles held up long, colorful curtains, which forbade the children from seeing what was behind the counter. A flimsy awning was also held up by the poles, providing shade, though little of it.

 "This looks like it's about to fall apart," his sister whispered, but the boy wasn't deterred.

 "It looks cool!" He enthused. "Hello? Is someone back there?"

 The curtains flew open suddenly, making the children squeak and jump in surprise, their little legs trembling in shock. Behind the booth, they now saw, was many more colorful trinkets; puppets hung along the ceiling of the awning, and glittering, gaudy jewelry was strung about. The children still didn't see the proprietor, however, and now the once confident brother let out a shaky whisper. "Hello?"

 A man sprung up behind the counter, the kids squealing in fright again. He let out a chuckle, and gazed at them with his mysterious eyes. "Scare you once, I'm a fool. Scare you twice, _you're_ the fool."

 The children were shaking once again; the sister had grabbed onto her brother's arm for support. But now that the surprise of his appearance was slowly sinking in, she took in the man's attire. He wore a blue and purple jester outfit, and the orange, cape-like collar around his neck was adorned with yellow pom-poms. Black gloves decorated his arms, stretching to his elbows, and a pair of tights were molded to his legs; one leg was completely purple, while the other was purple with yellow stripes. A blue hat sat atop his inky head of hair, with an odd, golden feather pierced through the back of it, and his peculiar-toned irises hid beneath a magenta mask with a lustrous border that matched the feather.

 "Who are you?" The boy asked in wonder, his brown eyes as big as the moon.

 Letting out another devilish chuckle, the man grabbed a hold of a colorful curtain and cloaked himself up to his nose, and, with only his upper face now visible, he wiggled his eyebrows up and down mischeviously. "Who am _I?_ I am the magician of mannequins, the puppeteer of all magic, the very wondrous-"

 "Actually, we're only interested in your name," the little girl interrupted.

 Giggling, he let go of the curtain and shrugged. "Of course. You may call me Faustus."

 "Whatcha have to offer Faustus?" The boy questioned, and the polychromatic man rubbed his chin in thought, his contemplating eyes staring upwards.

 "Well, I can make my puppets dance jigs that are more realistic than anything you've seen before."

 "We're a little old for puppets," the girl confessed, and her brother nodded in agreement.

 "Got anything else?"

 "I can perform magic!" Faustus exclaimed, his right arm shooting up into the air and a load of silver glitter falling from his palm.

 "That's boring," the brother whined.

 "Hm," Faustus hummed in contemplation, his hand once again rubbing his jaw. He was running out of ideas, and his mind desperately tried to come up with a plan, but all of his thoughts were quickly silenced by the ringing of bells.

 "Ooh," she cooed in awe.

 "It's the bells of Notre Dame," her brother said, amazed. A sly smirk graced Faustus' lips as an idea arose from their talking; he knew how to draw them in.

 "Beautiful, are they not?" Faustus gushed, lacing his hands together while his eyes fluttered to the sky. "They have a most lovely tone. Though, most people haven't a clue about the bell ringer."

 "The bell ringer?"

 "You never heard?" Faustus feigned surprise, placing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. "You two sure are missing out. Quite a good story."

 "Tell us, tell us!" The children begged, and Faustus' lips dared to twitch into a cunning smile.

 "I'd love to," he stated, shrugging his arms. "But I'm afraid I can't waste my time telling stories. Old Faustus needs to make a living too, you know."

 The little boy snatched the money out of his sister's hand, and placed her coin as well as his own onto the counter. "Here ya go, Mister, you can have our last dollars. Now won't ya please tell us the story?"

 Faustus swiped up the coins in a blink of an eye, tucking the money into his collar. The children watched as his cheshire grin grew wider and wider, before he gave a little spin and tipped his hat forward to cast a shadow over his eyes, even though his yellow irises glowed through the dark.

 "Very well. I will tell you the dark and twisted tale of the bell ringer of Notre Dame."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! The second will be up very, very soon, because this one was just an introduction of the story. Thank you so much for reading, and thank you Ritsy; without you, this story wouldn't exist and I would have nothing to love, (except for Arby's. Sorrynotsorry)  
> Anyway, I love you all and thank you once again for reading! ^-^


	2. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour kitlets! I tried to get this chapter up as fast as possible since the last chapter wasn't very long. I forgot to mention this before, but there are SPOILERS in this story, so if you have yet to see the movie and you don't want to spoil what happens, I recommend that you don't read this.   
> Enjoy. <3

 Moonlight streamed down onto the satin ripples, the scales of fish glimmering as they passed under the pale beams. The winter air was frigid and harsh, so gelid that her bluish-tinted skin was tight and prickling. The soft, relaxing sound of the paddle sinking under the water's surface and diving back up was easing her trepidation slightly, though she still convulsed. Looking down into her lap, a tear threatened to escape her ducts when she saw that her baby, though wrapped tightly in a blanket, was beginning to turn purple as well from the brutal temperature.

 "How much longer, Vincent?" The woman asked, her voice cracking and hoarse.

 "It'll be a while yet," he informed, a dark shadow casting over them momentarily as they passed beneath a bridge. "We'll be out of Paris soon."

 "I'm not sure he can hold on much longer," she cried, a droplet finally breaking free from her eyes. "He's so cold."

 She tried to hold her baby closer to her, but he gave a whine in protest. She quickly shushed him, for they couldn't make their presence known, and it was dangerous for even the smallest sounds to be spoken. So the mother tried to comfort her baby by whispering sweet nothings to him, and holding his tiny frame as still as she could while the wooden raft beneath them bobbed up and down on the water. 

 "We're going to have a better life soon, little one,"the woman breathed, her delicate, bony fingers gently caressing the baby's complexion. "You'll never have to live on the streets again."

 "Life will be better," Vincent concurred, his arm still consistently rowing. His paranoid eyes darted every which way, scanning the area to reassure himself that they were still in the clear. If they were caught, their fate would be most unpleasant, and even if he was risking his family's lives, they deserved a better life than what they had in Paris, and if death happened to be better, then so be it. 

 They continued to float through the canal in silence, cautiously passing under bridges and trying to use the stars to their advantage. Unfortunately, the stars weren't useful for very long, as a cluster of clouds banded together, casting a gentle snow. The woman hushed her baby whenever he would whimper and tried to keep his face covered as best as she could to prevent flakes from falling upon him. Meanwhile, her husband acted like a hawk, and would cease his rowing when he was afraid there was someone around.

 "I'll miss the bells," his wife stated after a while, her old tear streaks now a frozen crust, yet her eyes were still damp. "Nothing will ever compare to their magnificence."

 "A new life will," her husband assured. "Having our own cottage, our own land. Never having to hide from the public eye."

 "No," she whispered. "Not even that." 

 Before he could respond, a loud shout was heard from overhead.

 "It's the gypsies! They're trying to escape!"

 "We've been spotted," he gasped, his eyes widening when he saw a group of guards swiftly crossing the bridge in front of them, preparing to surround the canal. Looking back at his wife, he pointed his finger to the right. "Go! They haven't crossed the bridge yet. Wade through the water and run!"

 "We can't leave you, Vincent!" She cried, clutching her child tightly against her torso.

 "Rachel, go!" Vincent commanded, his eyes wild in fear. "They'll kill all of us if given the chance. Save the baby!"

 As soon as she heard the cold hard truth spill from his mouth, Rachel plunged into the icy stream, the water hitting her stomach at its highest point. She struggled to make her way through the freezing channel, her arms hoisting the infant as far away from the water as possible. 

 "Hurry, Rachel!" Her husband continued to chant, and it fueled her to keep moving. Her legs were almost completely numb now, and she shivered each time she felt the scales of a fish brush against her flesh. The hollers of the guards seemed to be increasing in volume, informing her that they were nearly there. Letting out a few cries as she stumbled and twisted her ankle, she finally reached the snowy banks. Keeping a firm grip on her baby with one hand, she used the other to pull herself out of the glacial channel, her dress sticking to her near frostbitten body. As soon as her desensitized legs seemed to regain normal balace, she forced them to run at the fastest pace possible.

 Falling snowflakes hit her in the face while she fled, and her soaked skirt flopped wildly. She could feel the liquid remains that had seeped through her thin shoes squish against her heels and between her toes, the snow on the ground seeming to make matters worse. Keeping her head down and her feet moving, she hurried into a back alleyway. A few moments later, she heard a man cry out a bloodcurdling scream, the shriek echoing and drowning the environment in despondency. Fresh tears began to form in her eyes and trail down her cheeks, and, though the yelp had ended, the sound had seared itself into her memory, motivating her to keep running, for her and her child's sake.

 Her vision became obscured by the many droplets that had flooded her tear ducts, and she blinked repeatedly while she looked from side-to-side in paranoia, the official confirmation of her husband's death now making her nerves spike to an unbelievably high level. Now that he was finished with, they would be searching for her. There would be guards inspecting every street and every alley, interrogating the few unfortunate gypsies that they may find wandering about. If she could make it to the cathedral, or even the Court, she would be safe.

 The infant in her arms began crying, stirring more panic inside Rachel. She hopelessly tried to mute his cries, going as far as singing to him even though they were in peril. Nothing would calm the babe down, however, and eventually his whimpers turned into ear-piercing, uncontrollable sobs.

 "I hear crying! It came from over there!"

 Rachel let out a choked up snivel when she heard the declaration and she bolted, traveling from one alley to another in her haste. Her dress was now stiff with ice crystals, the fabric seeming to be plastered to her flesh. Her skin tone was clearly turning purple, and she knew she didn't have much time before her limbs gave out on her. 

 "Only a few more blocks, little one," she rasped, trying to lovingly cradle her whining tot. She had said it to comfort him, but the words didn't even sound believable to her own ears. She didn't think that her legs would hold up for that long, and she could practically hear the guards' thumping footsteps as they tracked her down. Rachel forced herself to replay the sound of her husband's final breath in her head, utilizing the pain to give her hope. She didn't want to imagine her baby being slaughtered the same way as his father, howling and yelping his little lungs off, his youthful vocal chords cracking while he wordlessly begged for his life.

 Her bones grated against one another painfully while she kicked her body into a higher gear. She began sprinting agilely, taking longer strides and bouncing gracefully on her feet. Her breathing was choppy and short and her heart fluttered with fear, but she wouldn't give up. Not now, not ever.

 She rounded a corner, entering a different passage through the alleyway. Her melancholic expression immediately transformed into one of glee when she saw the entrance to the Notre Dame cathedral was almost in her grasp. Rachel still mumbled soothing words to her whimpering bundle of joy, but she no longer feared for her nor her infant's life. They would be safe now. The law wouldn't be able to touch them.

 Rachel rushed down the path until the church was fully in view, the enormous steps that led to the beautifully carved doors practically glowing with holiness. She ceased her running, and settled for a calm walk as she approached the stairs. She stumbled through the snow haphazardly, the ghost of a smile on her blue lips. She ran a hand over her baby's smooth head, her tender eyes regarding him with sympathy while her warm breaths wafted over his face. "We're here at last, my son."

 Out of the blue, a lithe, sable-toned stallion leaped in front of the mother, letting out a victorious neigh as he blocked her path. Rachel gasped breathlessly and stumbled backward, nearly losing her footing as she did so. The horse stared at her with malicious eyes, his glossy black mane falling over his neck flawlessly. She knew that animal anywhere, and her body began to violently tremor, her eyes slowly floating up to meet the equally malevolent gaze of the equestrian.

 "J-J-Judge Michaelis," she choked out, her voice so quiet that she was amazed she heard it. The judge's carmine irises singed the corners of her soul, his ebony eyebrows slanted in a dangerous angle. His raven hair slightly danced in the chilling breeze that had suddenly swept through, along with the silk, inky black robe that hung off his person. The light snow that sprinkled from the overcast sky matched his skin perfectly, and the wintry weather also happened to resemble the man's personality; cold, dismal, bitter, and isolative.

 "Rachel," he acknowledged, the name coming out as a hiss. "I don't suppose you were planning on claiming sanctuary, were you?"

 "I-I," she stuttered, her tongue practically dehydrating and shriveling up in her mouth. Her lips were beginning to crack and fray from the harsh weather conditions, small beads of blood seeping through the open fissures.

 "I'm surprised I was able to find you," the judge hummed, his eyes narrowing. "You slipped through my men's grasp on quite a few occasions."

 "What can I say," Rachel breathed, taking a few cautious steps back. "You always knew I couldn't be pinned down."

 The crimson hue in Michaelis' eyes darkened. "Mm, yes. You know, Rachel, it's not too late to take me up on my offer."

 The woman glared daggers at the judge, the hatred for her one true enemy burning brighter than a thousand flames. "You slaughtered my husband in cold blood. Do you honestly think I would consider an offering made by the likes of _you?"_

 "The likes of _me?"_ Michaelis repeated, snorting at her words. "I run Paris. It would be preposterous to refuse my proposition."

 "You killed my husband!"

 "Your husband was a rat!" He snarled, leaning down so his face was close to hers. They could feel each other's breath against their cheeks, and they both snarled at each other like rabid dogs. "And for denying my offer, you are equally ignominious!"

 In an instant, the judge seized the bundle out of Rachel's arms, much to her utter incredulity. Before she could act upon his sudden stunt, he shot his arm out, his palm meeting her face, and pushed her with every ounce of his strength.

 For Rachel, everything seemed delayed, as if she were in a trance. She felt her frozen and fatigued legs finally giving out, unable to support her weight any longer, and she experienced the sensation of falling when her body began to descend from the sheer force of the man's shove. She spent her last moments watching in horror at her baby who was in the grip of her worst nightmare, and the devastation of failing him, of costing him his life, was the final emotion she felt when her head hit the concrete steps, her neck contorting and her skull smashing against the cold stone. A sickening crack could be heard as her head busted open, and her now emotionless eyes closed as she died.

 Michaelis watched as a steady trickle of blood flowed down the stairs and seeped into the snow, staining the translucent crystals a passionate sanguine. His expression was apathetic; he didn't like observing the deceased nor did he feel pride or accomplishment after taking a life, but in the end, he had to do what would ultimately please God.

 Elevating a curious eyebrow, the judge crept his fingers into the blanket he held, throwing the plush fabric open to reveal a young infant. His eyes wandered up and down the child's features, and he was quite pleased to find that he seemed to have his mother's lips and frail body structure. He could be considered the perfect trophy now that his mother was dead; a reminder of the beautiful yet foolish woman. _Perhaps I can keep him,_ he thought, his lips twitching upwards slyly. _I could raise him as my own. He could help me purge this damnable city._

 An ill-intentioned grin made an appearance at the thought, and he ran his slender fingers down the baby's face. To his surprise, however, the babe opened its eyes, and he recoiled in terror, exhaling a huff from being taken aback. The child's left eye was completely normal and the color of a shimmering sapphire, matching the same hue of his mother's. His left eye, however, seemed to be mutated, for the iris was a vivid purple, and odd swirls seemed to be carved in the boy's pupil.

 "A demon!" Michaelis wheezed, his orbs dialated in fright. "He bears the mark of Satan!"

 Searching for some sort of aid, the judge narrowed his focus on a well a few feet away. _It's perfect._

 He guided his horse toward the waterhole, the animal trotting over in compliance. Even though the well was devoid of water and only had a small pile of snow gathered at the bottom, the drop would be a certain instant death for the child, for the hole was deep, and the impact would be fatal. Sparring one final, remorseless glance at the infant, he dropped its body into the well, then rode off on his horse as if nothing had happened.

* * *

 

 The bell ringer slid the grey hood off of their head first, before leisurely untying the two strings in front of their torso and letting the cloak fall off their body entirely. They had lived in the bell tower for years, but the harsh, brutal cold that cursed Paris in the winter still chilled them to the bone; the tower simply wasn't enough to keep them properly warm. Sighing, the ringer strode over to the bells, their hand caressing the freezing iron admiringly. After all these years of continuously chiming the glorious reverberating metals, their sound had yet to bore the ringer, who actually considered the bells to be their own family.

 "The likes of _me?_ I run Paris. It would be preposterous to refuse my proposition."

 The toller lifted their head in question, cocking it to the side in wonder. _That sounds like Judge Michaelis._

 They sauntered over and peeked through the opening of the pillars, staring down at the scene below. They could clearly make out the judge on his horse, who seemed to be confronting a young gypsy woman. The two shouted at each other, and then Michaelis shoved the woman back, the ringer gasping and covering their mouth as they watched the lady fall to her death, blood splattering over the steps from the trauma.

 The judge then seemed to be staring at something in his hands, though they couldn't make out what. Their eyes widened, however, when they heard him shout like a madman.

 "A demon! He bears the mark of Satan!"

 Completely wrapped up in the situation, they leaned further out to get a better view of the situation that was unraveling before their eyes. Michaelis ordered his horse to walk alongside the well that was positioned next to the cathedral, before he promptly dropped the object into the depths, earning another gasp from the secret observer. And, with a pompous flick of his wrists, he rode off, disappearing in the falling snow.

 The ringer wasted no time. Whatever he dropped in that well had stirred quite a commotion, and they were determined to find out why. Grabbing a coil of rope that had been sitting in the dusty corner for years, they hurriedly descended down the many levels of the church as fast as possible, wanting to get to the well before Michaelis had a sudden change of heart.

 They bursted through the front doors of the church, carefully going down the icy steps and heaving slightly when they passed the corpse of the gypsy woman. Rushing over to the well, they immediately peered down into the hole, but saw nothing but white.

  _Maybe I didn't hear anything._

 Frowning, they began to turn their back to the watering hole, but a muffled whimper halted them in their tracks. They looked inside the stony abyss, pupils dialating when a twitch of movement displaced a small patch of snow.

 Feeling valiant, the toller tied the coil of rope securely around one of the wooden posts that framed the well. Giving it a few tugs to make sure that it was safe, they held on tightly to the end of the braided cord and began to rappel down into the well. At first, it was a tight squeeze, and they were afraid that they wouldn't be able to reach the bottom. Their willpower soon outweighed their fear, however, and they continued on until their feet hit the bunch of packed snow at the base.

 The ringer fell onto their knees and dug their hands in the snow, shoveling their way through the millions of flakes. A soft, almost warm fabric caught their finger, and they scooped their arms in deeper, trying to gather as much of the mysterious object in their arms as possible. Cautiously, they lifted the plush cloth and cradled it to their chest. There was clearly an object inside the blanket, and it seemed to be alive since it quivered like an autumn leaf that had yet to fall. Swallowing nervously, they opened up the fabric, a breath catching in their throat from the shock of their discovery.

 An unclothed baby boy had been wrapped inside, his fragile skin freezing to the touch and the faint color of indigo. His tiny mouth wheezed violently as if he were trying to cry, but no sound came from his mouth. The infant's tiny fingers and toes were a rosy red, and the bell ringer feared that he may have suffered from frostbite.

 "No baby deserves the fate that was brought unto you, darling child," the ringer whispered, and upon hearing the soft words, the boy's eyelids flew open, revealing his doe-like, two-toned irises. They inhaled sharply at the revelation; never had they seen a child with two different eye colors, and they certainly had never seen purple ocular organs, either. Noticing the odd swirls that tainted his pupils, their gaze softened.

 "You must be blind in one eye," the ringer realised. "And I'm certain that that was your mother lying on the church steps. You poor thing."

 They stared at the baby for a few more moments, before they tied his blanket around their shoulder like a sling, keeping the tiny child close to their body while they climbed out of the well. The toller took the baby inside the church, and lovingly coddled him while they climbed up the long stairwell that led to the bell tower.

  Shutting the door securely behind them to ensure no one would find their new little secret, the ringer sat on the dusty wood floor, their gaze never leaving the child. The baby no longer seemed to be silently sobbing, but he was clearly still wheezing, and they rested their index finger on his rapidly rising and falling chest muscles, their expression one of pure concern. It was a miracle that he was still alive, though his head and his back were bruised, most likely from the drop. Either the snow or the blanket had saved his life, and both were equally unbelievable.

 "It's okay now," they whispered, the soft tone calming the child down slightly. He stared up at them with petrified eyes, and the toller gave him a soft smile. "You're safe. No harm will ever come to you; I will be your caretaker." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes the second chapter!  
> Who is the mysterious not-well-hidden identity of the child?  
> Why is the judge such a douche?  
> Who is the bell ringer?  
> Why am I asking you all these questions?  
> Some answers will be revealed in the next chapter! ^-^


End file.
